Chiaroscuro
by elektralyte
Summary: Written for the Summer of 2008 DDC FIC-A-THON. Prompt: Hank & Eric - Ominous shadows - "Where do you think you're going?


**Title:** Chiaroscuro  
**Author:** elektralyte  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Hank, Eric, OC  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dungeons and Dragons the Cartoon series. I write for fun and have no intentions of profiting off this piece.  
**Warning:** Some harsh language. Character deaths. Possibly OOC Hank.  
**A/N:** Written for the Summer of 2008 FIC-A-THON. Thanks Scribbles for the beta!  
**Prompt:** Hank & Eric - Ominous shadows - "Where do you think you're going?"

_Chi-a-ro-scu-ro--a term in art for a contrast between light and dark._

* * *

There it was, the sound of crying. Sharon Jensen lay there for the thousandth time and debated whether to get up or pretend she couldn't hear. 'Pretending not to hear' lost as always, so she swung her feet to the floor and began padding her way down the hall towards his room. When she reached the door she hesitated for a moment until she worked up the nerve to tap on it. When no one answered she put her ear to the wood and listened.

Nothing.

The woman cautiously twisted the doorknob and pushed. Opening the door revealed shadows cast by the light of a tiny desk lamp. Shades stained the walls and furniture, then blackened toward the edges of the room. Only the shape of a young man, breath hitching and head resting awkwardly against the desktop, stood in relief to the darkness.

_Lord this room gives me the creeps,_ she thought and not for the first time.

The walls were almost entirely papered with sketches. They were mostly drawings of his friends, but some were of people she didn't recognize.

_He draws monsters too. Where were those drawings?_ She wondered. Maybe he got rid of them. A mother always lives in hope.

Sharon inched in closer so that she could peek over his shoulder. It was another drawing. She leaned over to inspect it.

_It's a girl,_ she noted with relief. Not a monster.

The drawing was of Diana, one of Hank's best friends, who was with him that Sunday. Sharon examined the sketch and decided sadly that it was a very good likeness.

_Where did he learn to draw like that?_ She wondered.

Diana was drawn in a contrapposto position; strong, athletic yet relaxed. Sharon imagined her son scratching the pad with charcoal, bringing the girl to life.

* * *

**He rubbed his finger over a crisp line, trying to soften it. The light of the campfire flickered and he had to shift a bit to see what he was doing. Something wasn't quite right though. When it came to him and he blushed with embarrassment. He made Diana's chest too big. He always did that and he wasn't sure how to fix it.**

_**Oh well,**_** he thought. **_**I'm the only on who'll see it anyway.**_

****

"Wishful thinking pal," remarked a voice from behind.

"What?" Hank started, heart racing from surprise.

_**Did I say that out loud?**_** He worried.**

****

Eric held up his hands apologetically, "Her chest being that big. It's wishful thinking."

"That so?" Hank muttered defensively.

"Oh yeah," the other boy insisted. "I've studied that chest for months waiting for something happen. Between you and me, it's been a long wait," he claimed with a frown.

"Why don't you draw her from her best side? I mean, HOLY SMOKES that girl has a back porch swing!"

Hank quirked an eyebrow at the other boy. He raised a finger to his lips, indicating that Eric should lower his voice while the others slept.

"Seriously!" Eric whispered. "Why do you think I spend so much time in the back of the group?"

"Because you're slow?" Hank quipped.

Eric snorted before grabbing the pad out of the Ranger's hands.

"Hey," Hank protested. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Hold your horses, I just want a better look," he answered moving out of Hank's reach.

"Not bad for a jock," he sneered while making a big show out of critiquing the pictures.

Hank tried to gauge what the other boy thought of the drawings. It wasn't easy to tell in the firelight.

_**He's gonna need glasses if he keeps this up,**_** Eric thought squinting through the dark. **_**Seriously, who draws in the dark?**_

****

He flipped through the pad, examining each drawing as best he could in the dimness. Eric had to admit that Hank was good.

Really good.

And not just for a jock either.

The Cavalier flipped to the last page and gasped. It was a drawing of Sheila. Hank's sketch of Diana was good, maybe even great, but his portrait of Sheila was on a whole other level!

She was rendered in bold contrast. The background was nearly black making the highlighted areas of her face practically glow. Her head was turned three-quarter position, slightly off center. Her lips were quirked in a soft smile and Hank managed to create a dusting of freckles across her nose. Her eyes, though, were perfectly rendered. They conveyed a shy empathy that was so very Sheila.

Eric was impressed. "Jesus, Hank, you've got real talent! Why hide it?"

Hank shrugged. "I don't know. Not everyone thinks it's so great." He admitted with a touch of embarrassment.

The dark-haired boy stared thoughtfully at his friend. He'd bet his trust fund it had something to do with Hank's jerk of a dad. What was his name, Dave or Dick? Whatever, he probably would have called Hank fruity if he saw the drawings. Eric thought his own dad was an ass but Hank's...

Eric decided to let it go. Instead he asked, "Where'd you get the art stuff? Last I checked there wasn't any art store around here for miles."

"Presto-Mart."

Eric rolled his eyes. "Har, har."

Hank smiled. "I forget what it was we really needed but this stuff popped out instead."

"Typical Presto," Eric replied.

**He handed the pad back to Hank. The Ranger rolled it up and waved his good night to the other boy. Eric, already settled down for his turn at watch, saluted in return and began his duty.**

* * *

"Sheila," she said as she traced the drawing in her hand. "Hank has...had such a crush on that girl."

That was back when her son was more normal. _Normal_ was ages ago. _Now_ was different, _now_ was bad.

"The boy's not right in the head!" That was what Dan would say if that bastard ex-huband of hers were still around.

Still, she found herself in agreement as she scanned the pictures on the bedroom walls. These drawings told a story, at least according to his doctor. The doctor had used phrases like _'Survivor's Syndrome'_ and _'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder'_. She took a moment to remember the psychiatrist's assessment.

**"Ms. Jensen, drawing--if you will is one of Henry's, sorry, Hank's coping mechanisms," the doctor explained.**

****

"What do you mean?"

"These drawings are Hank's way of, re-imagining or examining the incident. He's looking for a way to rationalize the unexplainable even if it means inventing a convoluted fantasy."

She snorted unintentionally while wondering how much of this condescending jackass' crap she was supposed to take.

The doctor ignored her outburst and continued on with his pet theory. "Please consider if you will, how each of his friends are dressed."

The he carefully fanned out the sketches as if he were presenting evidence at a lecture.

"It is my belief that their outfits represent what Hank thinks are his friends personality traits. In a sense he's created avatars for them, and in most cases, he is very accurate."

"How so?" she prompted, hoping that he would get to the point.

He pointed to one of the drawings and explained. "Arthur 'Presto' Preston. Here he is rendered as a Magician and not a very competent one at that."

He then pointed to another. "Diana Jones; in our world a star athlete, in Hank's 'Realm' as he calls it, an Acrobat."

"Little Bobby," he continued, "rambunctious and aggressive here is depicted as a barbarian."

"Eric Montgomery, scion of our local tycoon; here depicted as a 'Cavalier'. Do you know what a cavalier is?"

_**I'm sure you'll fill me in,**_** she thought as she shook her head in the 'no' direction.**

****

"A Cavalier is a mounted soldier, a knight if you will. It also describes someone who has a haughty or disdainful attitude. Sound familiar?"

"What about this one," she asked, pointing to the picture of Sheila.

"Yes well, that one was a bit off. He calls her a 'Thief' but there are no records of any delinquencies on her part. At least not that anyone's aware..."

"She stole his heart," the woman supplied with a wry smile.

"Erm, well, I suppose..." he replied without conviction. It made her feel a bit stupid for saying it.

"This was all very interesting, but...so what?"

"As I've said, drawing is Hank's way of coping with the actual incident. Do you see how he depicts himself? The Ranger is his avatar. He sees himself as the leader of the group. Their protector if you will. Allow me to pose this question. Wasn't it Hank's idea originally, to go to the carnival?"

The woman nodded.

"Hank thinks that he is responsible for the incident that occurred that Sunday afternoon. He believes his decision led them to their fate. He has invented a scenario in order to cope these events."

"Scenario? What do you mean?" She asked, not quite following.

"By scenario I mean a fantasy world, a 'Realm' if you will of absolutes such as good and evil. Hank, with the help of a good wizard, must lead his friends to escape to the 'Realm' and enter the 'real world' through a magic portal. Their progress is often impeded by an evil wizard named Venger. It's very cut and dried, without the moral gray areas of our world. Things happen in the realm for a reason, unlike our world where unexplainable accidents can occur."

Sharon desperately wanted a cigarette.

"What...what happens if he succeeds? What happens if he brings them home?"

**"Well, hopefully resolution. Then we may be able to help with his recovery. Speaking of which, I would like to prescribe medication for your son..."**

Sharon shook herself awake from her reveries. She wasn't sure what to make of the doctor's theories. In fact, she thought he might be blowing smoke up her ass. Still, their town wasn't that big and he was supposedly the best doctor for this sort of thing. Maybe they should leave this place. She could sell the house and use the settlement money to relocate to a bigger city with better facilities. Maybe she could get her son the help he so desperately needed.

She focused on Hank who was breathing steadily now. It looked as if his nightmare was over, so maybe now she could get some sleep too. Tired, she turned to leave the room but was confronted by _them_.

She stopped for a moment, heart racing.

"Jesus!" She whispered. "They're on the door!"

There they were, in all their maleficent glory. Piggish creatures, skeletal warriors, lizard men, ugh. The most prominent ones were of a shadowy ghost, a five-headed dragon and a one horned devil on a black horse.

_Well, that's new,_ she decided nervously. _He must have done this today._

Last night these pictures were still taped to the bedroom walls. He had apparently moved them and re-taped them to the door. As she reached for the doorknob a feeling of unease washed over her. The eyes of the one who looked like the devil glared at her, daring her to get past him. As her fingers closed over the knob a spark of static shocked her, causing her to gasp in pain.

She brought her fingertips up to her mouth and glanced at the drawing again, and for a mere second it looked like the devil man was cruelly mocking her.

_It's all true! Everything Hank's been telling me, it's all true!_ Her mind screamed at her.

_Okay, now you're just being an ass Sharon!_ She chided. _Don't be an idiot._

Frowning at the picture, Sharon reached for the doorknob once again and gave it a hard twist...

* * *

**"Ruuunnn!" He screamed at the other kids. The shining portal was less than 50 yards away but Venger and his Orcs were right behind them. Hank spurred his friends on. They were so painfully close to escaping, but they'd been closer in the past.**

****

Before this latest quest Hank had been considering why they even bothered. Every attempt at going home was a disappointment, a failure. He longed for the days when Eric challenged his leadership. He would love to hand it right over to the Cavalier, just like Dungeon Master did his powers that one time.

_**Maybe I could step down and let him or Diana take over,**_** he wished to himself.**

****

He was so tired of all this crap; more tired than a teenage boy should be. He was afraid to tell the others what he was really thinking.

He didn't want to go home.

The very thought filled him with dread and he couldn't explain why. It felt like--well--it felt like a premonition; as if he was missing some terribly important point.

For the past few weeks he had been thinking of reasons that would convince the others to stay. They could live with Rhamoud. He would treat them like his own children and they could be happy. They had a purpose here; they fought evil. He and Sheila could...well, they could be together here.

Still, he was their leader and he as far as he knew, he was the only one who felt this way.

Hank looked ahead and saw that Diana reached the portal first, closely followed by Bobby and Presto. Sheila and Eric were a little ways behind.

Hank stopped to fire off some energy bolts at the Orcs, and then some at Venger.

_**That should hold them off,**_** Hank thought. He could hear the others calling to him, telling him to hurry.**

****

"I'm coming! Go through now!" He shouted.

He waved at them, indicating that they should go without him. One-by-one, the others stepped through. He had to get there before Venger got to him first. When Hank reached the portal he hesitated. He could see the carnival, hear the music, smell popcorn and feel heat. All he had to do was step through.

Something hot and fiery whizzed by him and shot through the shimmering opening. Hank turned around and saw Venger, aloft on his dark steed. The Arch Mage's hand was still smoking from used magic as a cold cruel smile cut across his face.

"No!" Hank dove into the rapidly shrinking portal and landed face down on pavement.

All the nerves in his face, hands and knees screamed from abuse. Hank pushed himself up and stood on shaky legs. When he looked down at himself, he was back in his old clothes which were bloodied and torn. He looked up and was horrified.

Hank was in the midst of an apocalypse. Things were burning, smoke was everywhere and people were rushing around in panic. There was something wrong with his hearing because he could see people screaming but their voices were muffled.

Someone grabbed him. It was a fireman and he was telling Hank to sit down, or at least that's what he thought the man was saying. Hank felt himself being pushed into something. It was a gurney and he obediently laid down on it.

The world slowly rotated as he stared up into the sky. Then, bit-by-bit his hearing came back. He could make out snatches of conversations around all around.

"...roller coaster on fire..."

"...Christ..."

"...someone bombed it or wha..."

"...five dead, and only one walked away..."

"...miracle he survived..."

"...somebody cover the bodies up now..."

Hank rolled to his side and looked. There were several bodies on the ground being covered up.

One of them though--

One of them had red hair.

**Then he screamed. And he hadn't stopped yet.**

* * *

"Baby, oh please baby stop that!" She pleaded.

Hank woke up screaming just as Sharon was about to leave. For the thousandth time she held her son as tightly as she could, willing him to quiet down. And, after awhile he did just that.

In the room of blacks and shadow she brushed back the damp wet hair from his pale face. His reddened eyes were feverish and the look he gave her was devastating.

Every night it was the same as the past three years. He spoke that familiar refrain that broke her heart time and again.

"I never get them home mom..." he hiccuped. "I never get them home...ah...ah..."

_Alive..._She finished for him, though not out loud. He could never finish it himself. She feared he never will.

Sharon stared at the drawing again, the one with the devil made of ink and shadows.

And He stared back, triumphantly.

The End


End file.
